Beyond the Wall
by pyrotorch246
Summary: Mask of the Betrayer was only the start. Beyond the walls of the Grey City, more lies in wait for the spirit-eater. *MAJOR SPOILERS FOR MOTB*
1. Chapter 1

"Do not mistake inaction for apathy, Katlyn the Dove." The words were spoken in the same calm tone that the god of the dead had been using all along, and the silver deathmask on his face displayed no emotion. Nonetheless, there was power in the rebuke, enough to drive the former doomguide to her knees. "Nor should you mistake necessity for justice. Murkyl's wall is an evil construct, but without it the order of the planes would collapse."

Kelemvor's gaze swept the scene. The red wizard and the dreamwalker stood to one side of the half-celestial. The great bear god of Rashamen was close to the twisted shape of the wall, standing over an unconscious, armored form.

"Your crusade has brought much strife to my Grey City. Even the spirit eater did not approve of your actions, though she was left with no choice, save to follow. Once again you have defied me, and this time you grandfather, despite all the love he has for you, cannot sue for mercy on your behalf.

"I cast you from my realm, Katlyn the Dove, now and forever." With the brief declaration, the god flexed his will and the fallen half-celestial vanished from the Grey City.

He turned to face the red wizard and the dreamwalker, but they had moved from their previous places, and now stood with the bear god, between him and the unconscious spirit eater. The message was clear—If he tried to harm the spirit eater, they would do their best to stop him, god or no.

Fortunately, perhaps, he was not planning on fighting them. "The curse is ended, though the cost has been heavy for your leader. She has wrought much destruction within my city, but the Dove and circumstances left her with little choice.

"Even so, she limited the damage caused with her betrayal of the demi-litch, and I am willing to forgive much, though not all, in the name of ending Murkyl and his legacy. I will save my judgment for when she returns here by the proper path, as I do for all my faithful.

"There are many roads leading from my city. Take her, and choose one, knowing that you will arrive at one of my temples, and need not fear for her safety, or yours."

Having said his piece, the god of the dead stepped back into the shadows, and watched as the three companions lifted the former spirit eater and left.

* * *

><p>And it's another contribution to the list of fics I've started but probably won't finish. This particular idea has been floating around for a while, and I had to get it out of my system. Maybe something will actually come of it.<p>

One thing I need to point out though, is that this particular story owes a great deal to JamCBlade's _Hungry Dreams_, which is quite possibly the seminal Mask of the Betrayer fic, despite the grammatical problems. Go read it while you wait for me to update.

-PT26


	2. Chapter 2

A fireball arced through the night, leaving a burning trail behind it. The hellish glow illuminated the hordes of creatures below it. Moments later, it crashed down and burst outward in a spray of flames, incinerating all those unlucky enough to be caught it the blast. It was a scene that had played out hundreds of times during the night, and would repeat hundreds more before dawn came.

The fireballs did not all fly in one direction. Some, conjured by the vile casters of the undead army, rose high above the walls of Crossroad Keep only to plunge downwards, scorching stone and cratering earth as frantic teams of greycloaks rushed about, struggling to keep the outbuildings from becoming blazing wrecks. Ironfist engineers manned the catapults in the courtyard, flinging heavy stones covered in blazing pitch outwards when the Keep's mages were too exhausted to contribute fireballs of their own. Unlike the fireballs, many of the stones shattered on impact, sending out a hail of fiery fragments. Others rolled, spreading chaos through the King of Shadow's armies.

On the walls tired greycloak archers loosed volley after volley to little effect. The zombies and ghouls below ignored the arrows until vital tendons were severed by chance, preventing them from moving, whiles as often as not the shafts simply bounced off the animated skeletons in the horde, cracking bones but doing little damage. Elsewhere on the ramparts teams of heavily armed and armored Ironfist clansdwarves worked with groups of Lizardmen shock troops to throw back assaults. Waves of foes broke on lines of unyielding dwarves until they were repelled by wild charges of the giant Lizardmen, who shattered ladders and toppled siege towers with gleeful, reckless abandon.

The Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep strode amongst all the carnage and misery, sword and shield in hand while the cloak of her office flowed behind her, surrounded by holy light. She trod carelessly on fallen bodies, though puddles of blood and bile, coated from boots to helm in viscera and gore. Fluids ran down the length of her sword arm, dripping unheeded to the stone below.

The undead and their allies fled at her coming, but there was nowhere to go on the narrow walkway. She was a vision of death in adamantine, the wrath of her god incarnate. Behind her came her companions: Khelgar, dauntless and ever loyal, wielding a hammer his own height with impossible strength, a declaration for all to see that he was an Ironfist, and his skill in battle would not be denied. Neeshka the rouge, a child of devils who struck in a web of steel and sudden grace. Sand, cool and sarcastic, a peerless master of the arcane whose spellcraft drove all before him. Ammon, tattooed and thrice-damned, master of demons and heedless kinslayer, fought seeking amends in the name of his granddaughter. Casavir, foresworn and fearless, a paladin of justice whose hammer rang true. Grobnar, flighty and foolish, the matchless inventor and singer of songs. Zhjave, unknown and knowing, bound by pronouncement to the shard-bearer. Quara, fiery and unruly, burned a path for others to follow. Bishop, the friendless pariah, whose bow sang a song of unending hatred. Last of all, the body of blades with a heart forged of iron, fighting and killing in ceaseless motion.

Together, the Knight Captain and her companions cut a swath through the army of creatures that should not have been, defying the darkness at every turn, a blazing beacon around which those still living rallied.

* * *

><p>Ali Brightblade, who had been raised Ali Farlong, woke from an endless night of battle and fallen friends with a start, one had blindly groping for the sword beside her bedroll. The panic that set in when she couldn't find it was only offset by the realization that she was in a bed, not laying on the ground, and that the plain ceiling above her was an unfamiliar white plaster, not the rough, time worn wood of the Veil.<p>

"You're awake. Good." Okku spoke from somewhere off to her side. "The hagspawn said you'd probably wake today."

"And how, exactly, did Gann know I would wake today?"

"He is a dreamwalker, Little One. Of all of us, he would know best, for the complexities of human slumber escape me," the bear god said. "Your battle with the hunger within cast you deep inside yourself and you have been wandering through your past, according to him."

"For once, he's not wrong, but it appears that we need to have words about my privacy again." Ali said.

"Peace," Okku rumbled. "He was worried for you, or he would not have violated your mind so. I followed him into the dreamscape to watch over you, as I have been doing in the waking world as well."

Ali smiled slightly at the rainbow-hued bear. "That's good to know." She sat up in bed, heedless of her nakedness with only Okku to watch. "So, where are we now, and how did we get here?"

"Your faceless god let us go."

She shivered a little at that description, remembering the mindless being of hunger that had lived within her as a being of pure white, with no face and no memories. "He is not faceless, Okku. He donned his mask to separate himself from mortal fallibility."

The bear grumbled for a moment. "If he hides his face from the world then he is faceless, Little One, and I will call him such. We are within one of his temples now, under his protection."

"That only tells me what building I'm in, not where I am."

"The red wizard calls this place the Ten Towns, while the hagspawn refers to it as a frozen nowhere. Both are meaningless to me, but we have traveled far from my barrow."

Ali made to rise, but stopped when Okku gently placed one massive paw on her chest, weighing her down. "Are you sure you are ready to rise, Little One? You have been lost in dreams, and I see in your eyes that they have not left you yet."

The small smile returned to Ali's face, but this time there was a melancholy behind it that was apparent even to the bear god. "Some dreams, for good or ill, will never leave me. There are things that I cannot forget. That I will not forget." She paused for a moment, her smile fading and finished much more quietly. "Things, and people."

"Very well," Okku responded, just as quietly, and stood back.

Someone had left clean undergarments and a long black robe folded neatly by the bed. Ali slipped them on quickly, grateful that she didn't need to dig fresh clothing out of her pack. There was no belt to hold the robe in place, but the same considerate someone had left her swords in a rack by the door. He hand hovered over one and she grimaced with distaste before quickly selecting the other and slinging it around her waist, using the belt that had been wrapped around the sheath.

The temple was laid out simply, so Ali managed to find her way to the privy easily and was on her way back when she ran into Safiya.

"I see Gann was actually right about something, then." The red wizard said as Ali approached her.

All she got in return from the slight elven cleric was an eloquently raised eyebrow and a question. "Is that really all you have to say?"

Safiya laughed. "No, I suppose not. It's good to see you up again. We were starting to worry. I was simply surprised that Gann's estimate was correct, since even he wasn't exactly sure when you'd get up."

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Too long. It's been four days since we left the Grey City, and until now, you hadn't stirred. Gann was very specific about you being trapped in a dream world yourself, though. He said it was different from true unconsciousness, somehow safer."

"Safer?"

"He said something about being unconscious for too long damaging the mind. For someone who lived on his own for most of is life, he's surprisingly knowledgeable about healing."

"I don't think that's particularly unusual amongst spirit shamans or druids, since all of the others I've met have been similarly skilled healers. What I have a hard time envisioning is him staying interested long enough to learn from whoever taught him." Ali frowned for a moment. "Kaelyn is a talented healer as well. Did she have anything to say?"

"Ah." Safiya hesitated for a second, earning herself a second raised eyebrow at the unexpected pause.

"Well?"

"Kaelyn isn't with us anymore. Kelemvore dealt with here the moment you were finished with Akatchi. He banished her from the Grey City. We don't know where she went after that."

"I suppose it's just as well," Ali sighed. "I have no more interest in her crusade, and I would not have given her the sword, no matter how much she begged, pleaded, or bargained for it. At least there's no animosity this way.

"Now, there's one other important matter: Is there any food around?"

Safiya laughed again. "It's almost noon, so Gann's probably already cooking something. He's insatiable."

"He's also a better cook than you are."

Safiya chose not to dignify Ali's observation with a proper answer and instead elbowed her sharply in the ribs, before heading to the small kitchen with the elf in tow.

* * *

><p>Gannayeve-Of-Dreams had learned to cook to feed himself in the wilds of Rashamen. At some point he'd discovered that he enjoyed the process of turning raw ingredients into something edible and had honed his abilities with practice until he considered himself a skilled cook and added it to his arsenal of talents best used on farmer's daughters, on the rare occasions when he attempted to seduce them in the waking world.<p>

Ali considered his opinion of his skills to be inflated, much like the rest of his ego, but she did freely admit that he was a better cook than she was, because Daeghun had never taught her more than the basics. He was definitely a better cook than Safiya, who'd never found the time to learn, or Okku, who simply ate things raw to begin with.

The priest whose hospitality they were enjoying looked over the chaos in his kitchen with a bemused smile. Ali was amazed by his tolerance until she discovered that he'd managed to extract a promise from Gann to clean up after he was finished. More impressively, the hagspawn had actually kept his promise, though it apparently had taken threats from Safiya to enforce it.

A short time later, the chaos resolved itself into an edible meal. Ali had planned on consuming a large amount of food, but found to her dismay that however hungry she might have been, her stomach was not an insatiable void born of a soul destroying wall and was instead a physical object that objected to the systematic abuses piled upon it over the last several weeks. Those abuses had culminated in four days of unconsciousness where her only sustenance had been water carefully dripped in her mouth. Her attempt to gorge on the food Gann had prepared ended far more quickly than she would have preferred and left her feeling sick.

She was about to leave the table and head back to her room again when the priest interrupted her. "Could I have a word with you please?" he asked. Despite the phrasing, it was not a request, so Ali followed him into a small room behind the temple's altar that clearly served as his office.

"What exactly is this about?" Ali asked after he shut the door.

"Nothing serious. Just a few matters that I thought would be best discussed in private. First, since no one seems to have thought to introduce us, I am Loken Gauntson, a priest in service to our Lord Kelemvore, though I do hope that much was obvious."

"It was. Thank you for your hospitality, Brother Gauntson."

"Think nothing of it. After all, when Kelemvore requests that I watch over you while you recover, it is my duty and pleasure to do so.

"Now, with that out of the way, I can start with the more important details, like your current standing with the priesthood, for instance. I doubt your role in the Third Crusade has won you many friends amongst the orders serving our Lord, but your actions during the Second War of Shadows have not been forgotten. Without you the Neverwinter and the Sword Coast would have fallen to the King of Shadows and his undead, and doubtlessly many of our brothers would have been lost combating such an abomination.

"Regardless, it is out of our hands. Your judgment is not ours to make. Lord Kelemvore has reserved that right for Himself. Not only has He allowed you to leave the Grey City despite your transgressions, He also directly ordered me to inform you that He has appointed you to the Order of Doomguides.

"Really? A Doomguide?" Ali asked. "I haven't had any of their specialized training—I was just another worshiper who got caught up in the Second War. I've never even been properly ordained as one of his priests."

"He has made His decision, and it is not for us to question. Besides, while you have not gained entrance into the order in the normal way, you have more than proven your worth. I would guess that He has had His eye on you since you killed the King of Shadows at the very least, and possibly as far back as when you helped lay the dead of Ember to rest."

"You heard about that?"

"We're not as far removed from the rest of the world here as you might think. The scrimshaw trade is fairly stead from the spring though the middle of autumn or so, when the seas become unnavigable and the mountains impassable. I've yet to meet a caravan guard in my time here who hasn't been willing to spread news from home over a drink or two. Besides, I have family in Port Last and apparently you and your disappearance were the only thing talked about in Neverwinter for several months."

"In that case, I'm surprised you got the details right."

"I did hear decidedly different versions from several groups out of Luskan, but given everything else I'd heard about you, I decided to discount it." The priest said. "That, of course," he continued, "was before you lead an attack on your own god's city."

Ali looked at him for a moment before coolly raising one of her eyebrows while she waited for a response, not quite sure if he was serious or not.

"For some reason, I have trouble imagining you engaged in wanton slaughter." He said, ignoring her expression.

"I suppose I'll have to take that as a complement, then."

"Take it however you like. Now, there's a caravan headed south tomorrow, if you feel well enough to join it. If not, you're free to continue staying here."

Ali thanked him and returned to her room. Despite the fact that she'd been asleep for days, she wanted nothing more than to collapse into her bed and pass out again. She restrained herself, instead unsheathing her sword as she sat down, laying the weapon across her knees while she inspected it.

Outwardly, it was a plain arming sword with an undecorated hilt, a smooth pommel, and a scratched blade, no different from any of the thousands of other swords used by travelers, mercenaries, guards and soldiers throughout the Sword Coast and beyond. Few of those blades, however, had been forged by the master smiths of the Ironfist Clan, as hers had. It had been a gift, a sign that they were prepared to fight at her side, and an expression of gratitude for her aid in finding their ancient clanhold and cleansing it of orcs, and restoring the treasures of the clan as well.

The blade was a pinnacle of the weaponsmith's art, all the more so for its apparent modesty. Most would have been tempted to add useless ornaments to the blade, but the Ironfist who forged it had made a plain, workmanlike weapon, and its scarred blade had served her well.

Absently, she retrieved a whetstone from her pack and began to hone the blade, focusing on the inevitable nicks and dull sections that any edged weapon acquired after seeing hard use. It was a mindless task, but one that was enjoyable in its own way. The room filled with the dual sounds of quiet, tuneless humming and the soft rasp of the whetstone, while Ali's thoughts drifted back to her first lessons, when Daeghun insisted she learn to care for her weapon as well as use it.

Only after she'd cleaned and polished the sword did Ali put it aside, noting that she'd have to ask Safiya to check the enchantments. Normally, there was no point in worrying about them, since they tended to fail immediately or never, but some of the things they'd fought in the Grey City, particularly the golems The Wall had produced to defend itself, made her want to have they're integrity checked.

Her armor came next. There was little she could do to repair any damage to it without assistance from an armorer, but she checked each piece of the full plate set carefully for wear or major damage. It had acquired a whole new set of small dents and scratches, and some of the straps needed to be replaced, but overall, her armor was in the best condition that could be reasonably expected from a well maintained but hard used suit of armor.

Standing, she sheathed the sword and piled the armor nearly beside the bed before walking to the door and placing her weapon in the rack beside it. She didn't even look at the other sword there. If something had been wrong with it she would have known already and the less she had to handle it the happier she'd be.

She was halfway through taking off the borrowed robe when a voice interrupted her.

"Returning to bed so soon? I'd have thought you'd rather spend time with us than in the dreamscape, but then, perhaps there's something ore interesting waiting for you there?" The voice trailed off suggestively, and if Ali's face hadn't been buried in the robe she would have been able to see the mocking leer. That didn't stop her from hearing it in Gann's voice, or from being able to envision it perfectly.

With a sigh, she finished removing the offending garment and turned to the door, clad in only her small clothes. "Gann, shut up." Once, not all that long ago, she would have snapped the words out as a command, but now she was far to used to his antics to use anything more than an irritated sigh. "I'm sure that the next time you defeat an ancient curse that feed on your own body and soul when there's nothing else available the rest of us will let you sleep off the damage. In the meantime," she managed to drag a hard edge into her voice despite barely being able to stand, "I'd appreciate it if you could return the favor."

She decided not to raise a fuss about him walking in while she was changing. Not only had he seen her wearing less at least once during the past several months, but he'd just ignore her anyways.

Gann opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand, cutting him off while she finished. "And if I catch so much as a hint of you in my dreams, I promise I'll make you regret it."

"Ah, so there's something you don't want me to see in your dreams, then?"

Ali sat down on the bed and slumped forward, resting her head in her hands. "Go away, Gann," she said, her voice slightly muffled. "I don't have the energy to deal with you right now."

She felt him rest a hand on one of her shoulders and squeeze it ever so gently. "Our rainbow colored friend can see the gaps in your soul, Ali, and so can I. It will be a long time before they're fully healed."

The floor creaked slightly as he walked away. "Actually, are you sure you don't want me to stay?" he offered from the doorway.

Ali lifted her head to gaze balefully at him.

"I saw some of your dreams while we were waiting for you to wake," he explained. "If you wish, I can ward you from that and direct your sleeping mind elsewhere."

It was not an offer he would have made to anyone else, and Ali knew it. It was almost enough to make her regret lashing out at him earlier. "No." she replied, equally hesitant, "My dreams are mine to bear."

Ali watched him go, before stopping him one last time. "Thank you," she said, so softly he would barely be able to hear it. It was more than just thanking him for his offer. It managed to convey that she appreciated the rarity and perfect sincerity of it as well.

She could tell he understood what she meant. She saw it in the way his shoulders straightened as he closed the door behind him. Then, alone at last, Ali climbed under the covers and lost herself to the world of dreams, both the good and the bad.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm back. Sorta. This has been an ongoing project for several months now, but it slowed down significantly lately, probably because I have way to much work and nowhere near enough free time, the same as always. Don't expect frequent updates, or you'll just disappoint yourselves. I have a buffer of about 16000 words, but they all have to be typed up, and that takes time, especially since it doubles as an editing process for me.

-PT246


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